


five times aziraphale gets demoted (and one time he falls)

by pickledragon



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Aziraphale Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Bad at Being an Angel (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Canon Compliant, Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Eventual Romance, Fluff, Footnotes, Friends to Lovers, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), i mix book and tv interpretations with no shame, let's be honest they were really terrible at being enemies, the author regrets adding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22290481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pickledragon/pseuds/pickledragon
Summary: Aziraphale began his extremely slow saunter downwards about 6000 years ago. Things had only gotten more interesting since.Or: Wherein Aziraphale faces Heaven and walks backwards into Hell
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	five times aziraphale gets demoted (and one time he falls)

**Author's Note:**

> i’m gonna be honest, this ended up more lighthearted and with less actual demotion than the title implies. hope u enjoy anyway!
> 
> Now revised and edited for clarity!

**1.**  
It all starts in Heaven, as most things that are dreadfully inconvenient and woefully ineffable do. 

The universe had been around for a solid forever, and those residing in Heaven (and Below as well) were getting a little antsy. Eternity is all good and well, until you're either strumming the harp or sulking in-between brimstone volcanoes for the duration.

There was a split (within the wider, more vertical one) of both curiosity and simultaneous disavowal of these odd "humans" God was planning on creating, with their new-fangled concepts of "free will" and "choice."

At the center of this debate was none other than the cherubic upstart Aziraphale, who was already rather infamous as a cherubim for inventing the concept of books and recorded knowledge.[1]

As the seven days dawned for the first time on Earth, it was up to Heaven's archangels to decide positions. After all, as She had so recently informed them, this was for what they were made. 

But—the Earth seemed such a chore. Michael and Uriel certainly had nothing good to say about it, from their talks with the Almighty. The entire thing was probably some sort of Ineffable Trial Run, before She _actually_ came up with something important for them to do. 

Gabriel, the Messenger and self-declared third angel at the hand and voice of God (trust him, he was), stood in the middle of Heaven, and scowled. Not three dozen feet away, the _nerve_ of them, Aziraphale and at least half a choir were gathered, excitedly murmuring. Gabriel rolled his eyes. Trust humans of all things to set everyone aflutter.

When ranting to Michael after the Almighty’s summons earlier that week, she had agreed readily. He was stirring up the lower angels into a fervor, with all of his talk of ‘progress’ and ‘exploration,’ especially in regards to a certain garden down on Earth. 

It supposedly held some sort of ‘Plant of Good and Evil’ that She had seemed very protective of. Nothing at all of angelic concern, but that didn’t stop Aziraphale. Soon every angel might be… overly in these new humans. And they couldn’t have that.[2]

If you'd excuse Gabriel's language, there were a Hell of a lot of angels in Heaven. He would never wish anyone to _Fall_ , dear God, but go to Earth? 

It would get him out of his hair for sure.

Out of the corner of Gabriel’s eye, the crowd had dispersed to their normal job locations, still energized from Aziraphale’s speech about humanity. The angel himself started slowly towards the libraries.

It was a mad idea, sending such a high ranking angel to earth. Almost the scandal of sending a Seraphim, if one could imagine. Gabriel almost dismissed the idea out of hand.

But. The Almighty _did_ say She needed four of Her best angels sent to Earth, and no one in Heaven could say Aziraphale was bad at his job. As a manager of records and word, and (he gritted his teeth) Gabriel’s superior, no one would think oddly of him as a recommendation. 

Gabriel clasped his hands together, making sure his movements were impressive and noticeable to other angels around. He shot off a quick suggestion to God, hoping the Lord would see his obviously good intentions.

Across Heaven, a bright light shone upon the future Angel of the Eastern Gate.

“Aziraphale, how would you like a new job?”

\-----

**2.**

> And the Lord spake unto the Angel that guarded the eastern gate, saying 'Where is the flaming sword that was given unto thee?' And the Angel said, 'I had it here only a moment ago, I must have put it down some where, forget my own head next.' And the Lord did not ask him again. 
> 
> Genesis 3:25-27

Aziraphale, not that he minded, seemed to be impossibly, oddly, and undeniably stuck on Earth.

After the Earth had finished drying off from the First Storm (there seemed to be quite a lot of firsts nowadays, and Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to be comfortable with them), Crowley had slithered off the walls of Eden to the depths of the desert, Aziraphale trailing behind him with a half-hearted thought to help the humans survive the night.

He needn’t have worried, Adam and Eve made it just fine. With a little more pain and work than they would have in the Garden, of course, but one couldn’t question ineffability. Aziraphale decided to adopt that as his new mantra, following the descendants of the first humans as they constructed towering cities, invented the fantastic concept of fine dining, and generally overtook the world they’d been promised. 

Aziraphale hadn’t seen many angels in his 130 years.[3] But, of course, he’d seen plenty of demons. And it was them that Aziraphale used to hastily justify the hundreds of small miracles: a loaf of bread here, a day of good luck there. Surely the mischief the demons were surely up to would more than balance out his misdeeds.  
Probably.

It’s one of the aforementioned demons that drove him to a small town not far from Adam’s settlement. He’d sensed the demonic essence from a ways away and figured he’d investigate it, try and earn some points with Heaven. All in the name of fairness, of course. 

No discorporating them, if he could avoid it. Rather not head too far down that road again.

Aziraphale walked closer to the town, and pinpointed the source: the tavern. He entered the door and his eyes were immediately drawn to the figure in the corner. Oh. It was Crawly, new corporation, fine clothes and finer food set in front of him.

Aziraphale turned to leave, he’d already exchanged words (and attempted discorporation on both their parts) a couple of years earlier, when Crawly’s eyes met his. 

Surely a little conversation wouldn’t do any harm. 

“Crawly.” Aziraphale stated as he made his way over to the demon. “I thought I felt you around here.”

Crawly halfheartedly raised his cup. “Well, sure as Hell’s a surprise to me. I thought all your lot had been recalled to Heaven. Being Her ‘chosen ones’ and all.”

Aziraphale’s face twisted into a wry smile. “You must have missed the memo. The humans tend to hold that title nowadays.”

Crawly frowned, a little deflated. “Didn’t expect that one. Thought that was the whole point of that big hullabaloo.”

“Pardon?”

“Ya know,” Crawly waved his arms around. “The war. The Fall. The big—” Crawly made a swirling motion with his hands, ending near the ground. He punctuated it with a mini explosion. “Seems daft that She’d work so hard to keep your side around to just pick the humans instead.”

“Well,” Aziraphale shifted in his seat. “Her will be done.”

“Really though, couldn’t have happened to a better lot. Honest!” Crawly protested when Aziraphale shot him a look. “Angels never really did seem to care about Her directions much. And humanity's more dastardly than most demons in Hell. They need Her grace more than we ever did.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. He waved his hand and miracled a plate of lamb in front of them. “Care for a bite?” He made a show of blessing half of the meal, to Crawly’s bemusement.

“Oh Satan, I miss you angels. Always so petty. Still believe they actually had a reason for leaving you here?”

“They say I’m due to be relieved any day now.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Until they can spare more angels from guarding Eden and Heaven.”

“Sounds to me like they kicked you out. And I’d know. Did it already, lots of brimstone, lots of fire. Quite messy really.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to respond, though he didn’t know with what.

“Actually, what _did_ you do then? During the war, I mean,” Crawly interjected. “I worked intelligence. You sure we never saw each other? Could have sworn I heard about an Aziraphale over the airwaves.”

“I… was mostly on the battlefield,” Aziraphale admitted. It wasn’t exactly something he was proud of. “They liked to put me on the front lines.”

“With the sword you gave away.”

He bristled. “No need to rub it in! I’m probably in enough trouble with the Almighty already.”

“Oh, She wouldn’t get mad at you. You’re every other angel’s fall guy. You’re perfect,” Crawly said with a hint of bitterness. Aziraphale frowned. “You know I’m right. At least we balance each other out, that _has_ to be worth something. You the Angel of Earth, and I the Snake of Sin. Unholy match, us two.”

“Angel of Earth?” Aziraphale preened. “I quite like the sound of that.”

“Well, don’t wear it out,” Crowley grumbled into his drink. But the look on his face belied his words. “You and me? Weights on the great scale of Earth’s salvation? Sounds like it'll work out just fine.”

Aziraphale and Crowley shared a drink and a plate of lamb. “Not a word of this to upstairs,” Aziraphale warned. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

\-----

**3.**  
Gone native, they said with a sneer. 

Through the years, Aziraphale had slid from the actual duties of a Cherubim into a more general role, leading Angel conduct on Earth for the first few centuries of humanity. Of course, after the Almighty herself had gone down, all full-time angels on Earth had been recalled. All except him.

Michael arrived with a bang on a grassy hill, a small town just below her. She made her way down the dirt path, the clatter of the town louder with each step. 

She found the Cherubim of Earth the first place she looked at the far end of a busy market street. 

Aziraphale’s new corporation was leaning against the outer wall of a hospital, her dark hair tied back into a bun, a rumpled nurse’s uniform hanging off her frame. Other nurses stood with her, sharing a laugh as they pointed out odd looking features on people passing in front of the door, or small children chasing animals as they ran by.[4] The faces surrounding her were gaunt and worn, but they smiled, nonetheless.

She'd have beeb almost be impossible to spot in the crowd, if not for the faint celestial aura radiating from her, making any human who walked near her stand just a little bit straighter.  


Almost made you pity them, a little.

“Cherubim,” Michael said as greeting.

Aziraphale flinched, but quickly collected herself. “Oh! Michael! What a… pleasure to see you!” She forced a smile. The ladies beside her eyed Michael with suspicion.

“I have news, Aziraphale.”

She blanched. “Fantastic! Um. Can we move somewhere more… private?” Aziraphale turned to her coworkers. “’ll be back before our next shift, don’t worry. Just need to talk to an old acquaintance.”

As soon as they’re out of sight in a nearby alleyway, Aziraphale rounded on the Archangel. “Michael, as urgent as I’m sure this news is, I’m afraid I simply do not have the time.” She shirked back from her own words as soon as she spoke them.

Michael’s expression remained neutral. “Three corporations in a month, and nothing to show for it.”

“It’s a plague, Michael,” Aziraphale snapped, despite her better judgement. “I have to do all I can.”

“Your assignment is _not_ some frivolous human plague. It’s to combat the forces of Hell. Their principal demon Crawley hasn’t been reported anywhere near here. This is inexcusable,” Michael spat.

“He goes by Crowley now,” Aziraphale corrected. She flinched at Michael’s stare. 

“I see. Do you repent?”

Aziraphale hesitated a second too long. Michael’s eyes hardened and she pulled a scroll out from her pocket. Her voice rang out through the alley, like the clear peal of a bell.  
“By order of the Metatron, the Voice of God, you have been demoted to the rank of Principality, for gross neglect of duty and defying the Ineffable Plan.”  
She spoke the words without emotion, snapping her fingers at the decree’s conclusion.

Aziraphale gasped and fell to her knees, feeling two of her four wings disappear from her celestial form. She felt her connection to God grow more tenuous, and the miracles of the day draining on her stores of power, something that had never happened before now.

Michael leaned over her, her eyes piercing through Aziraphale’s physical form. “I trust we will see no such mistakes in the future.”

Aziraphale curled in on herself. Michael shook her head, and with a snap of her fingers, ascended to Heaven.

She lay there, crumpled and exhausted for half an hour, before the cries from the open doors of the hospital reached an unbearable volume. She sighed.

Aziraphale picked herself off the ground, and headed back to the hospital. The Principality of Earth had work to do.

\-----

**4.**  
Aziraphale sat in one of the bookshop’s many nooks, enjoying a rather nice cup of tea. Thankfully, customers were avoiding his shop today, despite it being rush hour. It was a minor miracle in itself, so Aziraphale took the time he usually spent shoo-ing customers away from his first editions to read a little paperback he’d picked up at the other local bookshop a couple streets away.[5]

The page he was currently reading about a rather sordid political strategy of a fantasy world (an odd aside from the sex scene but welcome nonetheless) seemed to split in two, and the words were sent into a jumble as a new paragraph inserted itself.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and quickly scanned the fine cursive, written in a faint gold to make it as difficult as possible on the eye of the human form. He scowled slightly.

A citation, from the Angel of Miracles themselves. Too many frivolous miracles, done in too short of a time, there couldn’t possibly be a reason to save that woman from an oncoming train, so on and so forth. Though he was still the Principality of Earth, he was to be on his best behavior for the next quarter, or risk demotion into Hell Management duties.

Aziraphale shook the book slightly and the words fell to the ground, a glossy piece of parchment appearing to catch them.

He ought to have been worried. Chastised, properly penitent at most. These reports were supposed to be serious business, after all.

Aziraphale miracled his teacup full of Chardonnay and took a sip. He continued reading his book.

\-----

**5.**  
As he squelched his way out of Hell, Crowley’s suit carefully folded underneath his arm. Aziraphale kept his head high. Around him, demons clamored at the farthest edges of the hallways, the dark stone somehow lighter than their silhouettes muttering to themselves.

Behind him a voice suddenly appeared, getting louder as the sound of footsteps echoed through the tunnels. “Wait! Stop!” Aziraphale turned around, trepidation making it rather hard to stay loose and nonchalant. 

Beelzebub came panting to a halt. They skidded to a stop a few feet from Aziraphale, careful to avoid the trail of Holy Water sizzling on the floor. Michael hadn’t seen it fit to miracle a more absorbent towel back in the execution chamber, but Aziraphale couldn’t say he’d have done any better in the scenario.

Aziraphale schooled his expression into the sly, sardonic one he imagined Crowley would wear, even in this situation.[6] “Beelzebub. To what do I owe the displeasure? Care for a repeat performance?” Aziraphale dearly hoped not, he doubted he could pull it off a second time.

The Prince of Hell opened their mouth, a hand pointed straight at Aziraphale, but no sound came out. They seemed at a loss.

Aziraphale laughed, a sharp bark that rang throughout Hell. “Jolly good. Be on my way then.” He pivoted back towards the exit to Hell, actual confidence flooding his body. He was going to get away with this, no doubt in Heaven about it.

Beelzebub jolted to re-attention as Aziraphale turned his back. “I’ll… we’ll stip you of your position! Aziraphale isn’t going to make it out of Heaven, and you’ll never be welcome in Hell again!”

He shrugged and found he couldn’t even bring himself to humor them for a second. “Aziraphale’ll be fine, no doubt about it." he paused, for maximum dramatic effect. "And if I never come back—” He reached into Crowley’s deepest instincts, and for a second, all Beelzebub could see was the Serpent of Eden. He hissed, and they stumbled backwards. “I think that might be better for you than for me.”

Aziraphale grinned and shook his head a little, sending droplets of Holy Water to scatter against the walls. “Well, cheerio!” he said with a wave, and ascended to the Earth.

\-----

**+1.**  
The logical last step, Aziraphale figured, was Falling. 

Since the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, there’d been radio silence from both Heaven and Hell, but since the last words that Heaven had said to Crowley-as-Aziraphale had been a spat “You’re going to Fall for this, and I’ll make sure of it,” from Gabriel and a rather dirty look from Michael, Aziraphale had no real doubts it would turn out any other way.

He of course got his affairs in order: a Fall to Hell would most likely be a one-way trip, unless he could escape and make it back to Earth. Rewrote A.Z. Fell’s will, reorganized Adam’s new additions to the bookshop (mostly best-selling children’s books and a few sensationalist magazine runs). After all of this was done, Aziraphale set out to enjoy as much of the Earth as physically possible before his Fall.

It became a bit of a running joke, to Crowley’s unending distress.

Aziraphale would go out of his way to exercise his new freedom by loudly getting into arguments with church vicars, and perform as many small miracles as he could.[7]

They ate ice cream together in Saint James’ Park, and Aziraphale commented to his vanilla cone, “Ah, I think I'd fall for this,” causing Crowley to almost drop his popsicle.

“For Hell’s sake angel, I’d think you _wanted_ to give me a heart attack.”

Aziraphale shrugged and continued licking his ice-cream. “It’ll happen eventually, Crowley.” We can’t outrun fate forever. Might as well get used to this.”

“Get used to _this_?!’’ His voice was incredulous. “Always looking behind our shoulder. Always on the verge of—” He won’t say it out loud, in front of Aziraphale. That would make the possibility actually real. Instead of finishing, he grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels of his coat, careful to keep his popsicle far away from his vest. “You’re not going to Fall. And I’ll make sure of it.” He stalked off towards their customary bench, and Aziraphale looked fondly at his retreating figure.

They were sitting in the bookshop when it finally happened. 

Crowley was spinning his wheels, while Aziraphale sat nursing a cup of tea, working his way through some of those ‘comic books’ that Pepper had reccomended. 

Crowley snapped his fingers in the companionable silence. “I got it. Let me check your wings. There should be some greying, and depending on where, you can usually tell how soon it’s coming for you.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like its a disease that can spread. It’s just doubt, Crowley: that comes solely from within.”

Crowley could suddenly remember Lucifer, the Morningstar, his passionate speeches and charisma. His downfall, and so many others. “Doubt can be more contagious than you think,” he muttered darkly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but acquiesced. “Fine. Check my wings. I doubt you’ll find anything. Actually—” he paused, “bring yours out too. We could probably both use a preening.”

They moved to the center of the room, and in a flash, their wings had been pulled into the physical plane.

“See? Just as black and white as before.”  
Crowley released a long, shaky breath. “You’re right. I’m just—” He absentmindedly flaps his wings. “Worried.” 

“Crowley, my dear, I’m not worried in the slightest.”

“How?”

“Because I know either way, in Hell or holy water—”

“Quite literally,” Crowley quipped.

Aziraphale sighed. “Yes, quite literally. But Crowley, I know that no matter what, we’ll have each other.”

Crowley fell silent. “We’re on our own side,” Aziraphale said, echoing Crowley’s favorite way to describe it.

And in that moment, Crowley closed the space between them. He sniffed. “Took you long enough, Mr. You-Go-Too-Fast—”

Aziraphale cut him off with a kiss.

And they both fell head over heels.

\-----

1And, as everyone knows, knowledge is power.[return to text]

2Unbeknownst to Gabriel, and probably above his rank at the time, there were already quite a few angels quite ready to get down to Earth (and down on the humans as well).[return to text]

3They were, in fact, shored up in Heaven, preparing for the birth of Adam’s third child, and the next judgement of humanity, involving a lot of water, and enough wood to choke several hippos.[return to text]

4When she wasn’t working at the hospital, she joined them in their kitchens, making do with as many ingredients as they could buy. Aziraphale would later look upon these years as when her real love for cooking, not just eating, bloomed. [return to text]

5The bookstore was run by a rather nice woman who illustrated comics in her free time. She and Aziraphale often convened to chat about their opinions on romantic literature, her preferring long, epic quests full of pining and mutual affection, whereas Aziraphale often wished they’d stop quite beating around the bush about it.[return to text]

6Meanwhile, Up in Heaven, Crowley had kept a small flame of Celestial Fire in his hand for protection, and was having a rather difficult time not shooting it at Uriel, Michael, and Gabriel as they tried to shove him out of Heaven as discreetly and roughly as possible.[return to text]

7One memorable incident included the placing of a potted fern on the doorstep of every shop near Aziraphale. Children running through the area suddenly found their pockets full of sweets, and the homeless shelters in town suddenly had room for far more than should be able to fit. The entire population of Soho was having a very good week indeed.[return to text]

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! find me at learningthomas.tumblr.com


End file.
